Wrong tracks
by mycroft's mystery
Summary: Watson is blackmailed and kidnapped shortly after. The older Holmes is missing too. Sherlock to the rescue! This story is the english version of "Irrwege". We hope you like it! Rating T for now, may go up later.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

Another one of these boring days again. Watson gazed tiredly at the screen of his notebook. Not even the reprocessing of the newest case of his eecentric flatmate could lighten his mood today. The rain was coming down in sheets outside.  
>But not even a fluff of Sherlock had been seen since the early morning hours.<br>Since Lestrade's call.  
>What did he want again? And also he wanted to talk to Sherlock alone ALONE! A wave of jealousy overcame him.<br>Watson took a look at his watch. It was already half past 6.  
>A loud beep. Watson woke with a start. His screen read: You have 1 new message. Sender: Anonymous.<br>Weird, Watson thought. He was about to delete the message. That didn't work.  
>What the...? The message had opened.<br>Watson's face went pale as death.  
>"Be at Trafalgar Square at 8 pm tomorrow. Otherwise not only your reputation will be damaged. Think about your friend snuffler. Believe me, I can and will ruin you. Enclosed a little proof of my seriousness."<p>

With shaking hands Watson opened the attachment.  
>Contrary to all assumptions, his face got even paler.<br>Oh God! He had already anticipated that his alcohol consumption at the last New Years Eve party would involve him in trouble. But at that time, it was most important to him to stun the recent pain of separation.  
>The consequences were certainly of a very spicy nature. The incontrovertible truth was lying right before his eyes.<br>Sherlock and he, embracing each other tightly.  
>Sherlock and he, kissing each other passionately.<br>An unclothed Sherlock and -well, he definitely was attractive with his stringy muscles and- Enough already! Watson reminded himself.  
>His body temperature was already rising singnificantly.<br>Already feeling faint, he thought: What now?


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

He did not get the chance to find a solution (not even in his imagination). Still staring at his monitor he let his fantasy go wild for a moment. Catching himself in the blink of an eye he berated his chaotic thoughts. This was definitely not the time for such things!  
>From the distance he heard the door closing. Turning his head he saw his flat mate standing in the entrance. Sherlock was soaked to the bone thanks to the pouring rain outside.<br>Maybe he should for once follow the example of his older brother who virtually seemed to be stuck to his umbrella.

"Watson, you look like death itself", stated Sherlock. "How could a simple mail possibly be so shocking? Let me have a look!"

Startled Watson closed his notebook with a loud thud.  
>"Sherlock! Did it ever cross your mind that some things could be PRIVATE?"<p>

"No.", Sherlock answered unaffected.  
>John started sweating. At this rate his friend probably knew a lot more by now than he wanted him to. And this gorgeous smile- stop it John!<br>Watson felt like bolting from the room but decided otherwise. That would only arouse his interest even more.  
>But he didn t want to hear Holmes next answer either. Damned be those deductions!<br>"So, what is it John?" Of course, opting for the understanding course now, are we?  
>"It's nothing- really. Nothing of importance." He faked a smile. Great! Who do you want to convince with this? Not even your grandmother would believe you.<br>Embarrassed he turned his gaze away. What am I doing? The question crossed his mind over and over again.  
>"Well, what did Lestrade want from you anyway? Another case our beloved inspector is not able to solve on his own?" He flashed Sherlock an ironical grin.<br>"Hah! Watson, how anybody could be as ignorant as you completely escapes my mind! It's obvious that he's just doing what those above him want him to do. Tell him to jump out of the window and he probably will. All to please the British nation."

"And those above him would be?"

"Think Watson. Who has an enormous affiliation to chasing me around on his behalf?"

Watson's face lighted up in recognition.  
>"So, you mean Mycroft?"<p>

"Astonishing! He voices some intelligent thoughts!"

"Thank you very much.", Watson answered sarcastically.  
>Sherlock sighed.<br>"So it is another case- sort of I mean." Alright Watson, changing the topic could actually work. Maybe he doesn't notice.  
>"I've got to talk to you. Well you already do. Would you just stop that? Anyway-" His eyes bored into Johns. Those beautiful, expressive eyes- No! Enough now! You re losing it again.<br>"Just get it out, Sherlock!"


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Watson felt his throat constricting.

"As you determined, it's about Mycroft."

"Yes, yes, go on. " John seemed somewhat exasperated.

"My dear brother has made it quite clear that I am to accompany him on one of his boring field trips. To Madrid, may I add? The point is, one of his minions mentioned something's going on which threatens the safety of Europe. Quite boring if you ask me but there seems to be a person called 'M.' involved."

"You think that-"

"Yes! And it's my chance to finally catch him."

"And your brother would threaten you with knighthood for that- again."

Sherlock smirked.

"Anyway- what's the problem? Let's get going."

John felt exhilarated, felt adrenaline rushing through his veins. Maybe this day didn't turn out half as bad as he thought.

"He asked me to come. You are not to accompany me. It would be too dangerous for you."

"Too dangerous?" Watson felt anger rising in his guts. He jumps out of his chair grabbing Sherlock and shaking him vigorously.

"I've almost been blown into pieces, have been kidnapped, had to watch my girlfriend being threatened and nearly killed- shall I go on? I could probably do this all day long."

Unmoved Sherlock extracted himself from John's grip. Stretching out on the sofa he answered:

"Moriarty knows my weak point. There's no use dragging you into it. You'd only be a hindrance to me."

John's face turned red like a tomato. Hurriedly he turned to leave the room preparing himself to slam the door right into Sherlock's face if necessary.

"Come on. Just stop it John. You know I'm right." Holmes did not even look up to his friend already anticipating his reaction.

Watson paused in his movement. This situation was outright annoying!

"For god's sake Sherlock! Does it never get boring being such a smartass? It's always Moriarty here, work there and both all over again!"

"Not that I had noticed now calm down and come back would you please oh by the way you're acting like a jealous girlfriend which by all means does not compliment you"

John sighed. Didn't he want to avoid this at all costs?

Slowly sitting back in his chair and looking quite defeated he answered:

"Yeah. You're probably right."

"Of course I- sorry."

A heavy silence filled the room.

"Shall we go out for the night? I know an excellent pub in western London" Sherlock asked. Somehow he had the need to make amends to John.

Watson considered it for a moment.

Finally having made up his mind he did not get the chance to answer as Sherlock's handy went off.- number: unknown.

"Hello? Who is it?"

A man's voice softly spoke:

"Mr. Holmes, in case you happen to be interested in your brother's welfare meet me at 8 p.m. tomorrow on Trafalgar Square. "

"What's that supposed to mean? Who are you?" Sherlock's voice sounded tense.

"Sherlock…" It was nothing more than a mere whisper followed by the sound of hollow beating and muffled cries.

"Shut up bastard! Tomorrow, 8 p.m., Trafalgar square. Don't be late!"

The line went dead.

Sherlock's eyes were widened. He let his hand fall to his side shivering all over his body. He looked ghastly pale. His phone hit the floor with a loud crack. Sweat glistened on his forehead.

"What was that?" asked Watson taken aback by Sherlock's sudden stupor. "You're all right?"

In an instant Sherlock's legs gave out. He tumbled to the floor hitting the table with his head and smashing Mrs. Hudson's (who was thankfully visiting some relatives abroad) ancient teapots in the process.

Despite being on his feet immediately John wasn't able to catch him.

He knelt down beside the detective at once and shook him carefully.

"Sherlock? Sherlock!" He sounded desperate. "For heaven's sake, wake up!"

Nothing. John slapped his face a few times.

Opening his eyes with a start Holmes grabbed the other man's wrist's tightly.

"What the hell are you doing? And who are you anyway?"

He touches the back of his head wincing lightly a considerable bump already forming there. Looking at his hand he saw a small amount of blood probably coming from a wound thanks to the lovely table's edge.

Watson felt an odd feeling settle in his stomach.

"What exactly do you remember?"

"I… What…"

Watson tried to calms his friend touching his shoulders lightly.

"Leave me alone"

Sherlock instantly began struggling against John's touch that retreated at once.

Watson regarded the other silently thinking about his next actions.

Something in his gaze seemed to soothe the hurt man. Slowly he helped him stand up then lying him back onto the settee. After that he retrieved his medical bag from the cupboard. He took a closer look at the other's bruises, beginning to clean the formerly bleeding wound to prevent it from getting infected.

"Ouch! What are you doing?" Sherlock jerked his head back.

"Would you just hold still for one second? You fell and hit your head demolishing our furniture as you may notice" Watson answered dryly pointing at the broken table.

"But that does not explain why I'm here and why should I fall down out of the blue? That's ridiculous!"

Watson distorted his eyes. His flat mate may have lost his memories but definitely not his bad behavior. Splendid!

Looking Sherlock in the eyes he noticed the look of defeat und uncertainty.

He paused.

"To put it short: You`re Mr. Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective- the only on, may I add since you've invented the job- and your little intermezzo with our coffee table seems to have put you in a state of amnesia."

Sherlock frowned.

"Alright. And you are-?" He quirked an eyebrow.

"I'm Dr. John Watson, Your flat mate, probably only friend, former military doctor, momentarily your chronicler."

Sherlock absorbed the information without further notice.

"And now?" asked John.

"How should I know? As a doctor you seem to be the obvious specialist to answer that, aren't you? There has to be some kind of therapy!"

Holmes watched the other seemingly searching for help.

"Maybe you should solve this case! Working could help to stimulate your memories!"

Watson seemed to be thrilled by his idea.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Holmes looked at him blankly.

"As if that works so easily – huh? We have no clue at all." Watson contemplated.

"I…uhm…You are the genius here!" Slowly Watson started to get frustrated.

"Great." Sherlock tried to raise up but failed miserably.

"Can you remember ANYTHING at all, Holmes?"

Sherlock was quiet for a moment.

"And what exactly would that be?"

"Well, you got a phone call, you're face went pale as death and than you just collapsed.

What-"

Sherlock interrupted him nervously.

"Watson, a few minutes ago, I didn't have any clue who I was. I have to rely on the ramblings of an alleged (he emphasized this particular word a bit too much for Watson's liking) friend concerning this matter und you expect me to remember a phone call? Ridiculous!"

Watson replied sheepishly: "Well, it often seems the most recent or most important memories return first. I really hoped-"

"You have an appointment tomorrow? But it seems you're not looking forward to it…"

"How-"

"Really, that was easy." Holmes' smirk was confident of success.

Watson tried to get hisself together to prevent fainting. That would have been the last thing the two of them needed…

"Damn! How do you know? I thought you suffer from amnesia?" More and more Watson believed to be in a very awful nightmare which he would soon wake up from. Unfortunately, this wasn't the case.

"I remember you reading an e-mail when I came in. It read you should come to Trafalgar Square tomorrow at 8 pm."

"Oh, than I suppose you remember the rest, too." Watson hissed sarcasticly.

He simply couldn't comprehend it. Why in the world had he to remember this embarrassing incident?

Holmes brooded about Watson's question.

"I'm sorry to say that this is not the case."

"But I thought I…." Watson stuttered. "Have you also… I mean…uhm…"

"Have I what?"

"There were…"

"My dear Watson, you are indeed incredible!"

"Oh, really?" Watson couldn't believe his ears. He grinned stupidly.

"An incredibly bad liar!"

The smile disappeared promptly from Watson's face.

"Thank you very much, I'm sure!"

"To notice you're hiding something from me is easy as taking candy from a baby. Every bloody idiot would be able to deduce this from your stammering. So, what is it?"

Sherlock shoved past Watson and opened the notebook: Enter password.

"Hey, that's my-!"

Fast as lightning he pressed a few keys and hit enter.

"How can you…"

"It's obvious. Your…"

"What is the meaning of this, Watson?"

One could read the shock in his eyes very clearly.

Once again, Watson had the urge to bolt. Already getting ready to escape, he realized his leg would upset his plans.

Over and over, he wondered how he got into this absolutely weird situation and what the hell he had done wrong…

"Watson, did you listen to me?" Holmes looked seriously irritated.

He may have lost his memories but his character was still the same. He hated it when nobody listened to him.

"Well… Yes, of course… Uhm… Yeah… It was like that… You know… We were drunk… You can get really akward in this state. I suppose you already experienced something similar?"

Watson himself didn't even believe his stuttering would convince anybody, even less his friend Holmes.

"No, not at all. Listen, I think we should meet this mysterious extortionist together tomorrow.

"That's not a possible option. You remember, I should come alone, right? How do you imagine to manage this?"

"I'm going to hide somewhere. No one knows what these people are planning to do. If the extortionist attacks you, I'll use my gun."

Watson blanched with fear. Had Holmes gotten so hard-boiled he resented to killing if it came down to it?

Another thought, then: Sherlock seemed to be more annoyed by the extortion than by the fact that the picture showed HIM and a – at least for the moment- unknown man having a fling.

"Wha- Of course, Holmes."

"Sherlock."

"Hmmm."

"You've never called me Holmes. To be precise I don't like being addressed by my last name."

"Yes, but you-"

"Just my intuition, that's all."

Watson's previously hopeful face darkened.

"Watson, I don't know how these pictures – he could here the disgust in his voice – came about but you really should think a bit more about your reputation instead of doing nothing."

"Agreed. But how?"

"Because I am a brilliant detective - like you told me before - you should confide in my abilities more."

"Considering it properly, you are right." Watson would be confident with anything at the moment if only they wouldn't have to talk about these awkward pictures. He felt the urge to strangle the one responsible for the whole mess…

_Thanks for the reviewer from Britain (you know we mean you ;) )! Also thanks to all the readers!_


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

_Trafalgar Square, London. Friday, 23 September, 2011, 8 pm._

Watson was waiting impatiently in front of Nelson's Column.

Although the unknown man or woman had only determined Trafalgar Square as meeting point, Sherlock had advised him to wait right there, because in such a crowded place the extortionist may miss him otherwise.

Honestly, that would be to Watson's liking. He would happily spared this little 'rendezvous' if his reputation wouldn't have been in danger.

His tension was rising when he noticed Sherlock watching him.

Suddenly a hand was gripping his shoulder.

"Good evening, Dr. Watson. Would you please do me the favor to follow me?"

A middle-aged man had sneaked up on him unnoticed. His dark clothes and his sunglasses – Heaven knew why he had to wear them at dawn! All the cliches from cheap spy movies were borrowed here! – there could be read little into it. It wasn't that he would be able to that anyway, Watson thought bitterly. Constantly, Sherlock and the other employees at the yard had labeled him as a completely clueless idiot.

"Dr. Watson!" The man's voice had a threatening tone. There was something cold and heavy in his back, he could feel that.

Wonderful, having a weapon involved really improves my situation. Couldn't get better anymore.

"Dr. Watson, don't you think we should -how can I say it (a look to the side, seemingly into the crowd)- resume our talk at a more private place? If you please?"

With this he shoved Watson to a black Bentley at the edge of Trafalgar Square.

Ok, it WAS getting worse.

They climbed into the car. Watson catched the voice of a young woman.

Silence and darkness then.

/

The whole incident had been watched by Holmes, of course. Though he couldn't remember being Watson's friend he was determined to come to his rescue.

Luckily, the genius remembered a shortcut. That was because a program he had recently downloaded from the net had told him the IP-address of the anonymous was at Union Street.

His conclusion lead him to believe the Bentley was heading there, too.

There wasn't any time to waste.

Resolutely, he began to remove the cover of a sewer being located in a backstreet.

"Hey, Sir! What are you doing there? That is forbidden! Stop that immediately!" A cop was chasing him.

Considering the few seconds left to him, he slipped down the sewer without further ado.

He was in a hurry. No time for having a chit-chat with a cop while Watson's life was possibly endangered.

Holmes ended up in a brown, smelly fludge. Obviously, this was a wastewater pipe. His coat had had it, no doubt.

That wasn't disturbing him now. In his mind he repeated over and over again: Rescue John! John? Since when had the blonde been so familiar to him that he called him by his first name?

Get yourself together, Sherlock! Really no time for sentimentality now! He gazed at his smartphone, looking at a map in his mind. A sewer map. How did he know- no distractions allowed! He got to save his friend- Was he? He didn't know! His head ached. Further and further through the sewers! He started to ran. His clothes didn't deter the wetness anymore. The reek became nearly unbearable, but he forced hisself to keep moving ahead. He mustn't lose sight of his goal. There was some other thing, too. Something important he failed to remember. Damn!


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Watson awoke with a loud groan. His head felt as if it had been smashed against a concrete wall.

"Where..?"

Slowly he opened his Eyes. The darkness around him seemed almost impenetrable. A quiet rustling next to the opposite wall startled him. He strained his eyes noticing the contours of a person. It seemed strangely familiar. Mycroft. What did the older Holmes do in such a nasty place? And why wasn't he moving at all?

"Mycroft?" No reaction. Splendid. What else could go wrong today. Call me and say the world is going down- I would not even be surprised, he thought.

Alright John, stay calm. You're a doctor after all. Just check if he's o.k.

He lowered himself beside the older man who lay cowered on the dirty wooden floor. His breathing was shallow, his heartbeat barely noticeable. Blood trickled down the side of his head.

Watson shook his shoulders. "Wake up! Mycroft! Come on now!" He was nearly screaming by now.

Mycroft's face twitched, his eyes opening a crack but not showing any recognition.

"Mr. Holmes. Are you alright? Do you remember how you got here?"

"What..?" A hoarse cry left his throat.

"It's me. Dr. Watson."

Mycroft regarded the other with a bewildered look- at least it as what john thought it had to be in relation to their situation. After all one did not find oneself somewhere in the middle of nowhere every day. And in the darkness-literally.

Watson sighed for what seemed to be the millionth time. Maybe he should post it in his blog, category: hobbies.

He neared the hurt man again wanting to discern the actual graveness of his injuries. The other jerked, trying to break loose of Johns touch but failing miserably thanks to his state.

Finally he was turned onto his side. The well-known recovery position had to be useful for something- right?

He heard a faint panting and saw the other's form constricting then vomiting on the floor. Tears were filling his eyes.

Who had anticipated the unfathomable man who secretly controlled most governmental acts to be found resembling a picture of misery on the filthy floor of a rotten cellar –together with his brother's flat mate?

Gingerly John moved the other away from the remainders of his lunch bundling up his jacket and using it as a pillow. He felt powerless.

Sherlock… Help us ….

Please….

Meanwhile Sherlock was fighting his way through the sewers of London. During his little stroll he noticed his considerable knowledge not only of the wastewater network but also the city itself. For the first time in his life he was stunned about himself. Of course he couldn't know at the time.

He assumed he had reached a place beneath the Waterloo Road. 10 more minutes to go till he would catch up with them. He had to hurry.

Finally having reached his goal he tried to climb out of the canal as inconspicuous as possible.

No easy task for sure but somehow he managed.

Sherlock found himself in front of an old factory building. The windows had all been closed with rough planks. A sign at the front entrance read "Hamley's brewery" in fading golden letters.

He did not stand there for long having registered all necessary information within secons. Instead he began searching for a passageway into the old building finding some broken boards near a hole on the roof of a side wing.

He reached into the pocket of his coat finding the gun and some ammunition which had been soaked during his trip but should nevertheless do just fine.

With some skill and an even bigger load of pure luck he reached the top of the warehouse.

He looked through the opening finding the inside obscured except for some places where light seeped through the old bars. Sneaking through the aperture he landed on an old iron stairway sitting right over a large rusty tank. Moving to get some solid ground under his feet he felt the gangway giving out under his feet. With a hoarse scream he fell down holding onto the kettle stopping his fall by mere inches. He slid to the ground his heart pounding madly in his chest.

Great he thought. Even if no one had noticed you before you have managed to let the whole world know by now.

Suddenly he saw something white blinking in the dim light. He grabbed it with shaking hand blowing all caution to the wind. Reading the short message his eyes widened.

It said:

"Wrong Holmes! The game goes on. Your princess is in another castle. But do you REALLY know what you are missing? Or do you miss some facts?

Fighting the urge to shred the paper into tiny pieces he screamed: "What's all this about? Oh come on now!"

He hear aloud cracking noise. Looking up he realized a large steel tube coming right in his direction.

"No!" He tried to jump out of the way unsuccessfully. Motionless he lay on the floor.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Sometime later Sherlock awoke with a stinging headache. It almost felt like someone had played an extensive game of soccer with his head.

He sat up. Jesus! If it should go on like this his skull would probably be split by the end of the day. A pity- in this case he wouldn't even be able to have a closer look at it.

He hesitated. John! The anonymous call… Mycroft…. What the bloody hell was going on?

Suddenly it fell like scales from his eyes. He remembered the curious message which nearly shocked John to the point of fainting. He remembered his brother's assignment in Madrid. And he remembered the thread.

Of course-Moriarty was playing another of his dirty little games with him.

Well- seemed like he had no other choice at all. Sighing he grabbed for his mobile and- nothing. Naturally his persecutors had taken his phone with them- just in case.

Sherlock decided to search for the next phone booth. Somewhat old-fashioned but better than nothing. Leaving the old factory he noticed that M. hadn't even made any effort to guard him.

It all seemed like a cat-and-mouse game. Bur he could not discern who was the cat. And who the mouse.

Reaching his destination Sherlock hurriedly typed the number of a certain high decorated but certainly anything but brilliant (or so he thought) inspector.

"Lestrade" answered a tired voice.

"It's me"

"Holmes" the DI seemed somewhat annoyed. "What do you want? Thought we discussed the case just yesterday. Didn't you state it was 'absolutely obvious and not worth your time'?"

"Of course it was. Even someone with the IQ of a peanut could have seen it was the wife."

"Smartass"

"Oh for god's sake would you stop that Lestrade! I've got a new case for you" Sherlock sounded agitated. His fingers were tapping restlessly against the windows of the cell. His eyes looked haunted.

"It's the case of the abduction of John H. Watson. Would you mind reconsidering your answer?"

"Your assistant?" Lestrade laughed. "You can't be serious Sherlock!"

Holmes pondered how he could avenge the doctor's honor since John was so much more than a mere assistant-wait where did that come from? But it was neither the right time nor the right place to discuss such minor inconveniences.

"That's exactly what I said. It happened at 8 o'clock at Trafalgar square. He has been taken away in a black Bentley." Sherlock was rapidly losing his patience. His best- no, his only friend was missing an Lestrade thought it a good time to be a diva an let him down.

"Right" came a doubtful reply. And pray tell me-did those guys by any chance wear some black suits and sunglasses?"

"How would you know this?"

"Watched any movies concerning spies lately, haven't you? Such things only occur in cinema!"

"I'M NOT LIEING! SO STOP IT NOW! THEY'VE GOT WATSON!" Sherlock was screaming his heart out. Why would the inspector not understand?

"Seriously Holmes, as you describe it your friend-isn't it- went with them on his free will." "Did I mention he has been blackmailed?"

"He- what?" Harsh coughing could be heard at the end of the line. Seemed as if Lestrade had slurred on some coffee.

"Really Sherlock. Do I have to ask for every little detail or would you just tell me the whole story before I fall asleep on my feet?"

Sherlock hesitated. Should he really tell the Inspector? Not the best option but neither was keeping quiet.

"There were some photos… compromising ones…uh…"

"Oh" The DI was somewhat shocked. The timid doctor and compromising photos did not go well in the same sentence.

" Don't 'Oh' me inspector!" He could not fathom how the other could stay so calm. John was a person of utmost importance. Or… at least he was to him.

"Come over to the yard as soon as possible. " With this he hung up. Worried about his friend Sherlock hailed a cab giving the driver the yard's address. He had no money left in his pocket but thought no more of it. Lestrade could deal with it. He owed him one anyway.

Deep in thought he looked out of the window. Suddenly his eyes widened. If Moriarty was in Spain- what did he want with John in London? Or was it all fake. Actually it was not only the doctor who received a strange message.

"HOW COULD I BE SO BLIND!"

Holmes literally ran into Lestrade's office.

"Hello Holmes!"  
>Sherlock come to a halt in front of the older man's desk looking flustered and gasping for air.<p>

"I've already got a suspicion" he blurted out.

Absolutely unimpressed he was told to sit down.

"Alright. So who do you think guilty?"

"Moriarty." One Name. One name that filled the room with an untouchable tension.

"Moriarty? Jim Moriarty. Hooper's boyfriend? That's absolutely ridiculous!"

Lestrade could not fathom why Sherlock suspected an mousy, timid guy like him to be the mastermind behind an abduction.

Sherlock was flabbergasted. It seemed he was surrounded by idiots. He suppressed the urge to slap his forehead. As always the others saw but did not observe.

"Listen, I followed the car. I found an old factory building. I found a message meant for me- so it obviously was the right place- signed by an M. And furthermore I've been knocked down by one of his henchmen. By the way: Moriarty is my archenemy! There is no other possibility. "Did he really have to spell it all out to this dimwit? Maybe this was a dead end after all. Trust the police to achieve nothing.

"You know I could prosecute you for unauthorized irruption?"

"And you know you owe me a lot?" Lestrade jumped out of his chair banging his fists on the table. His face was beet-red. He huffed.

"You can't be serious Sherlock! Always doing only inputs presuming authorities you don't even possess! You should be thankful that I don't put you in jail constantly! It's the other way round: You owe me!"

Lestrade sat down again his mouth describing a thin line.

"I see we're getting nowhere so I will take my leave now. See you around inspector."

With these words Sherlock turned around and left the building.

John sat still on the dusty floor a sleeping Mycroft beside him. Mentioned man had fallen asleep being completely exhausted. Watson had used the time to have a better look at him. Besides lots of injuries on his arms and torso he found at least one cracked rib and a broken wrist. Seemed the statesman would be disabled for work quite a while. Well, if the ever got out of this mess. John thought about Sherlock, thought about their last moments regretting never having told him about how he felt. Mow he might never get another chance. Even if he hated to admit it he could only wait. And hope.

He woke some time later, blinking a couple of times. Seemed he fell asleep despite the tense situation. Looking up he saw a man resembling a tree standing over him dressed in jeans and a plain shirt. Add some tattoos to the picture and here was the perfect fairytale villain. The guy seemed to be one of the handy-man definitely not having the brain to plan any abduction. His face looked positively dumb.

"Move!" He took Watson by his sleeve dragging him out of the room not sparing the other prisoner a second glance.

Watson looked back discerning his fellow was still sleeping before being pushed along another dark, dusty floor.

From afar he noticed some light seeping through dirty windows. So it was already daytime again. For what seemed like hours to Watson they went on passing lots of closed doors all reading: "Do not enter without permission".

Finally reaching their destination the muscleman banged on another door almost pushing it out of its angles.

"Come in" came the answer from inside. The voice seemed dangerously familiar.

Sherlock entered his flat at 221b Baker Street. Everything was silent. He nearly missed Mrs. Hudson's excited chattering about the thumbs in his freezer or Johns absolutely exaggerated complaints about the mess which was supposed to be their flat.

With a deep sigh he slumped into his armchair. Think! What did I miss? There has to be something- anything. Not even Moriarty cold be this perfect. It was plainly despairing not being able to do what seemed like child's play any other time. He stood up, pacing his room restlessly, stopped raising his arms as if having found a clue then lowering them again resuming the seesaw. Sherlock grabbed a glass from the nearby table smashing it against a wall.

Tearing his hair his gaze went back to "M.'s" message. In the dim light falling through the half lidded curtains he discovered weak contours covering the piece of paper. His face lightened up the old spark returning to his eyes.

"Of course!" The solution was so obvious. Hadn't he himself stated to Watson that serial killers and other scum sought to be found, needed the audience to notice their genius? M. HAD left him a clue.

He picked up the notice holding it against the light revealing a net of fine lines on it forming a short message.

"You!" Watson couldn't trust his eyes. Standing in front of him he found not only a greasy Moriarty but also a lascivious dressed Irene Adler. Great he thought. So those photos were nothing more than a decoy serving to separate him from Sherlock. Mission accomplished it was then.

"Adler I really thought you smarter than that. Didn't you learn anything from your last encounter with Holmes?" His face bore an expression of defiance.

"But of course I did dear doctor. I've learned to destroy him. He's not good for my business after all." Irene smirked causing a cold shiver to run down Watson's spine.

"What will you do" asked John his voice filled with panic.

"Are you really that slow of the mark?" She stood in front of him, her long fingernails gracing his cheek. Watson jerked back.

"Don't you dare touching me!"

"Oooh" the woman pouted "why are you so stubborn? Actually you have to admit: No Sherlock, no problems. And his snob of a brother won't stand in our way any longer either." Her smile grew even wider. Watson was at a loss for words. He was afraid. Fearing for Sherlock. Fearing for Mycroft. Fearing for his own life.

"Oh dear don't be so scared. All will be over soon."

Her laughter filled the room accompanied by Moriarty's superior grin.

"If you would excuse me now, gentlemen? I've got some important work to do." Turning to leave the room while grabbing her coat she added:

"We should give the doctor some time to digest everything, shouldn't we?"

Immediately he was seized by his collar struggling but all the while failing miserably against the vice-like grip of his captor.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

"You look down on the city.

Stiff and yet in motion.

Like a lighthouse in the dark.

Add four and seven,

Or else you will never find me.

When my journey draws to an end,

The red ribbon will appear.

I will see you,

But I will be hidden, though."

Ha! A riddle.

He reflected upon it. He had solved nearly all of the cases the Yard couldn't cope with. This really shouldn't be a problem for him.

"You look down on the city…", he murmured.

A high building? An aircraft? No, it wasn't an aircraft. Something like this wouldn't be stiff. But buildings never were in motion. (Apart from when they collapsed.)

Look…- See…- An eye?

Of course! The London Eye! The well known Ferris wheel was firmly fixed to the ground but its cabins were moving. Plus, it was illuminated brightly at night.

Add four and seven… Four and seven – eleven.

Eleven what? Obviously the numeration of the cabins.

The end of a journey and a red ribbon? Dusk? Must be a time designation?

The last ride of the day! When was that going to be? He got hold off his smartphone and searched the web for further information. After all, such trivialities weren't of any interest to him usually. 8: 30 pm.

A quick qlance at his watch. Already 7:15 pm! One ride took 30 minutes. He would have to hurry in order to be on time.

He bolted out of his flat. There was a taxi at the next street corner. He made some awkward gestures to get the driver's attention and got on hastily.

"The London Eye! As fast as possible!"

On account of the bustle of his passenger the cabbie raised his eyebrow but he bit back his remark.

One hour later he had reached his destination, being full of impatience. London's busy traffic had really gotten on his nerve. He threw some money at the cabbie's direction and exited in a hurry.

Running towards the Ferris wheel, he shoved his way through the waiting line (thereby getting on the bad side of a tourist group) and purchased a ticket.

His eyes searched the sides of the cabins. There! Number eleven!

Shoving his way through the waiting passengers – thereby ignoting their clamour – he entered the cabin.

Agitatedly, he scanned the sides and the floor of his vehicle. A white edge was standing out under the seat cushion. He grabbed it. Another message:

"I have something you want. Find me."

A red kiss mark had been planted next to it. He looked up in shock. Beneath him he saw a woman with long brown hair who watched him with a sardonic grin on her face.

She moved her lips.

"You know the answer."

The ringtone of his smartphone. A new message.

"Hot in cold.

Dark mixes with light.

Your sight fills us with pleasure.

The snake already waits for it's prey.

The round rings in the angular.

The price for happiness is high.

But one pays three of ten,

The other nothing.

Oh, how unfair this world is!"

Sherlock was startled first. Had she gone totally crazy or what? An idea came to his mind. It was worth a try at least.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

25th of September, Russel Street, London, Starbucks Coffee Shop

Sherlock was drinking his coffee- black, no sugar, no milk. Taking out his mobile he checked the time. Already four past one. He frowned. Otherwise he could wait a little longer, staying right in the lion's den. Some minutes more or less didn't matter anyway.

"A Latte Macchiato, please" The waitress behind the bar turned to the milk frother ignoring her guests for the moment.

"You are late. And I'D LIKE to have and explanation if you'd be so kind."

Irene could not believe how foolish she'd been. After all this was Mr. Sherlock Holmes. Impossible he wouldn't have decoded her little riddle. She decided to ignore him paying her coffee than turning to leave the shop again.

"I give you the choice, Irene. You could either follow me or tell me everything or I could call the police and send you on a nice little holiday. I will get what I want at any rate. So pray tell me what it shall be then."

Holmes' face clearly showed that she had no chance to escape, his eyes burning with determination.

Otherwise she could at least try. After all she was not just anyone. She was Irene Adler, The Woman.

No guts, no glory.

But Holmes had already caught her thoughts.

"Look, I'm armed and quite keen on finding my friend so don't think I only bluff. You could as well give me the information voluntarily."

Irene was shocked. Never had she thought the other to be this resolved. So the doctor actually was his weak point? Interesting. She would tell her ally ASAP. It would be a shame not using this piece of information for her purpose.

"Alright, alright" she sighed. "Here you go." She handed him an envelope. Sherlock opened it, finding some photos and a DVD inside. Turning his gaze back to her he asked: "Is that all?"

"Of course it is. Your little boy isn't that important after all. And don't worry; there are no other copies of it. I swear."

She eyed him wistfully one last time.

"Goodbye, Mr. Holmes. " Somehow she would indeed miss him. Having someone of your intellect wasn't that bad, considering her life turned out to be quite dull besides her criminal activities.

"Sweet dreams, Irene" She had no time to respond before dizziness claimed her and she fell to the floor. Who would have imagined that Holmes' new sleeping drug showed such an extraordinary effect within her Latte Macchiato.

Smiling contently he left the small street beside the coffee shop leaving a sleeping Irene between the ashcans.

In his pocket he finally had some useful indications to John's and Mycroft's whereabouts.


End file.
